Coffee
by a. loquita
Summary: Jack surprisingly likes fru-fru coffee drinks. A little Sam/Jack established fluff piece.


"Coffee"  
By: a. loquita  
Pairing: Sam/Jack  
Warnings/Spoilers: None  
A/N: Special thanks to ziparumpazoo for her beta work on this.

Jack stands next to Sam in line and waits. He has an odd, passing desire to put an arm around her. Or something. But he's sure that wouldn't be appreciated, and besides, he's never been that kind of guy. Not a guy who feels the need to be possessive and silently communicate to the room that she belongs to him. And even if he was that kind of guy and he did it in a moment of forgetting his place, she'd kick his ass.

So, Jack just stands there, hands shoved in his pockets, and smirks. Because despite the lack of outward indication, she is his. Has been for a while now. Well, at least in between her missions and when he can get away from Washington.

Since it's not all that often they get to see each other, when they do, they tend to hole up in her house or his condo and not come out for 48 hours, or until one of them is needed back at work, whichever comes first. After months of this, Sam decided the strategy isn't necessarily the healthiest thing and they should at least get out of the house once in a while.

So, here they are on a Sunday morning, waiting in line for coffee. The line is long and slow moving, and the length of the menu on the wall surprises him because this is just a coffee place, right? Sam turns to look at him, as if she knows what he's thinking. How the hell are there that many kinds of coffee?

The people behind the counter in green smocks, none more than 20 years old, move through the orders and finally Jack steps up to the counter with Sam.

"Grande mocha, skim, no whip, extra hot," Sam says, adding with a smile, "please."

What the-? The woman orders coffee like she gives a briefing. He refrains from voicing that thought and instead says to the pimple-faced kid at the register, "Small coffee."

"Sure, sir, would you prefer our Columbian roast, flavored coffee of the day, which is hazelnut cream, or our winter blend.- it comes in regular or decaf."

Whatever happened to black, cream, or sugar? Somehow, Sam must have sensed his rising urge to say or do something rash. She reaches over and squeezes Jack's hand.

Huh, look at that, holding hands.

"Sir?" Not from Sam for once, but from the kid.

"Huh?" Jack focuses again on the kid, who is suddenly not as throttle-worthy as he was a moment ago. Of course a moment ago there was no handholding. "Um," Jack says, "you know what, I'll just have whatever she's having."

"Sure. That's two grande, low fat, extra hot, no whip, mochas." The second time around didn't clarify a thing for him, but Sam nods. The kid pushes a few extra buttons on the register. "That will be nine dollars and thirty-two cents."

Jack blinks. He knows a diner a few blocks over where he and Sam could both get the Lumberjack breakfast – which happens to come with free coffee, by the way – and the total bill would be less than that. How damn special is this coffee?

Sam pulls out her wallet from her purse, but to do that, has to let go of his hand. "No, wait," Jack says, then he covers his blunder by reaching in his pocket to take out his own wallet. "I've got it."

A few minutes later they get their order and sit at a table next to a family of four. Jack's glad to see that the kids are drinking milk, not coffee. He wonders if at a place like this they start them early.

Two gossipy women are at the table behind Jack. He can hear "Like, totally" every 15 seconds.

"This is nice," Sam says.

Jack assumes she doesn't mean the gossipy girls, and probably not the coffee either. "Great," he agrees. Mostly to make her happy, because he doesn't mind drinking coffee in bed with her. He's not picky.

He takes a test sip of the stuff he can't even pronounce and thinks, hey, this is pretty good. Who knew? Well, apparently Sam knew. And also most of America since these fru-fru coffee places exist on every corner now.

Sam interrupts his thoughts by reaching over and taking his hand again, but her eyes aren't on him. Jack follows her line of sight, toward two female 20-somethings in tight workout clothes standing in line. The ladies are looking over at them. Actually, just him.

Wait a minute.

"Carter, are you being all possessive of me, staking your claim on your property?"

She glances up at him, eyes all wide and innocent. But Jack knows her too well and he thinks, you know what, this trendy coffee thing isn't so bad after all.

"Carry on," he says, with a touch of a grin.

Yep, getting out of bed on a Sunday morning for coffee was the best idea he'd had in ages. Well, mostly it was Sam's idea.

But he'd agreed to it.

He was smart like that.


End file.
